


Blue

by Iron_Angel



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8841709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron_Angel/pseuds/Iron_Angel
Summary: For Preston, the color blue meant so much. His first memories of his mother was of her blue dress. His childhood idolization of the Minutemen and their blue flag. The blue of a clear sky that chased away the nightmarish memories of rain and blood soaked earth of Quincy.Maybe, just maybe, it would save him from this new nightmare.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: *insert standard "don't own, no profits made" jargon here*
> 
> Beta'd by: StonerGhoul.

For Preston, the color blue meant so much. His first memories of his mother was of her blue dress. His childhood idolization of the Minutemen and their blue flag. The blue of a clear sky that chased away the nightmarish memories of rain and blood soaked earth of Quincy.

Maybe, just maybe, it would save him from this new nightmare.

He couldn't spare it any thought as his adrenaline and fatigue warred against his arms as he cranked and cranked and cranked his laser musket. Sweat stung his eyes, making it hard to tell if that speck of blue crouching near the street corner was friend or foe. He prayed for friend even as he took aim and fired at another raider making a run for the museum door. Six had already gotten in; he couldn't --wouldn't-- allow more. Sturges was a strong man, but he couldn't hold the office's door for much longer.

The Blue, still crouching low, scuttled from building to a derelict truck, paused briefly, then dove at a raider taking cover behind a wall of sandbags. Preston couldn't see what happened, but the next moment the raider was down and not getting back up, and the Blue was crouch-dashing to a closer old wreck with a newly acquired pipe pistol.

Two shots took down another raider. Another dash forward. In an instant, the Minuteman realized the Blue was using his laser fire as a distraction. The raiders hadn't even noticed a second person taking them out yet.

The ploy didn't last, though. The third raider in the Blue's sights didn't go down immediately. He turned and let out a shout as the pipe pistol became an improvised club against his skull. Now the remaining raiders were turned on the Blue.

Preston didn't have time to crank up a strong charge. He fired anyway and hoped it'd be enough.

What the Blue lacked in aim was more than made up for in melee skill. A raider with a pool cue was momentarily stunned that it was ripped from her hands before the wide end was smashed into her face. It was then cracked in two across the neck of a second. Finally --Preston felt both ill and exalted-- the remaining half was plunged into the belly of the last.

The Blue looked up at him.

Vault Dweller judging by the suit. But more surprising than that, it was a woman.

Behind him, there was a loud thud from the door and a growl from Sturges. No time to think.

"There are settlers inside! The raiders are breaking through the door!" he shouted down to the Vault woman. He jabbed his finger down toward the museum steps and his fellow Minuteman's corpse. "Grab that laser musket and help us! PLEASE!"

He couldn't wait and see if she'd help them. He had to help the others. He turned and rushed back inside, throwing himself at the large wooden cabinets the Longs were struggling to push against the door Sturges strained to hold shut. The glass of the interior overlooking window shattered and rained down over his head as one of the intruders sprayed the whole wall with bullets. It was pure luck that the maniac was such a bad shot that even the raiders banging at the door also had to dive for cover, giving Sturges a moment of reprieve to grab the insanely heavy furniture, throw his weight backwards, and finally slide it into place.

There was loud cursing over the gunfire. A pause. More concentrated gunfire. Then like an angel's song, the distinctive thrum and buzz of the laser musket.

Sturges looked up at him. "What's goin' out there, Pres?"

Preston chanced a glance out into the atrium. The Vault Dweller was running up the grand staircase. He ducked back down, giving the mechanic a grim smile. "We've got help."

The battered group held their collective breaths as the sounds of absolute chaos continued outside of their barricade. At one point they gasped in horror as an explosion shook the floor. Preston's hope dimmed as his mind went to the oxyacetylene tanks he remembered seeing littered around the war memorial room on their way up. Had she been blown up by a stray bullet hitting one?

"Not her," he heard Mama Murphy whisper.

That was good enough for him. Confirmation came a moment later when the two raiders outside the door started cursing again, one shouting at them, "I gotta go take a little walk. But I'll be back, and you'll all be dead!""

This time after the sounds of struggle had died away, there was a string of curses from a feminine voice too melodic to be a raider's.

Preston stood and peeked out into the atrium again. He turned back to Sturges. "It's our help. Get the door open."

The mechanic waved the Longs out of the way, then put his shoulder to the cabinet-turned-barricade, easily sliding it to the side.

As she stepped in the room, Preston was momentarily struck by how tall she was. He had to look up to met her gaze. Her eyes where just as blue as her suit, though one was ringed with a red tint turning purple and starting to swell. There was a smear of blood at the crease of her nostril. He gestured to it. "You alright?"

She ducked her head slightly and wiped at her nose with her sleeve. "Yeah," she said with a wince and a sniff. "One of them got a solid punch in. Hurts like hell, but I'll live."

He'd met only a handful Vault Dwellers in his life. Vault 81, mostly. He didn't have a very high opinion of them. They got hurt easily and complained loudly about it. This one was nothing like them. Her suit was too clean, her hair an unnatural shade of red, her skin peppered with new bruises but unscarred. More impressively, she could fight.

He shook himself to break his entranced stare, suddenly overcome with a rush of relief that the immediate danger was over. "Man, I don't know who you are, but your timing is impeccable. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen."

She eyed him up and down, looking confused. "Minutemen?"

It wasn't just the Minutemen she didn't know of. She didn't know about ghouls either. She did know fusion cores, though, pulling one out of her satchel in the middle of his explanation. Her eyes lit up at the mention of the power armor and the minigun.

"I'll give you as much cover fire as I can," he said as she moved to the door.

She shook her head. "I can take care of myself. You worry about keeping any more from getting into the building."

"Scrappy thing, ain't she?" Sturges chuckled as she took off.

Preston felt an answering grin tug at his lips as he made for the balcony door. "Maybe our luck is finally turning around."

The moment he stepped outside, "Boss! We got somebody up here!"

Preston immediately swung his musket up to take aim at the raider on the roof adjacent. Before he could turn the crank, a short burst of rapid gunfire splattered the man's head and torso across the roof. The boards under his feet shook as the now armored Vault Dweller took a running leap from above him, crashing to earth with a violent tremor that knocked two raiders below flat on their backs.

One didn't have a chance to get back up as a heavy stomp collapsed his chest cavity. The second took an elbow to the face, the skull nearly bursting from the force.

Even with the minigun in hand, the Vault Dweller stuck to her strengths in melee tactics. Impervious to the .38 rounds in the power armor, she steadily plowed her way through a seemingly unending onslaught of raiders in a slow march up the main street. Nothing could stop her. Preston wanted to whoop and cheer. They were going to make it!

A loud roar rent through the chaotic noise of the battle, and a different kind of earth tremor rattled the windows and boards of the surrounding buildings. Terror froze Preston in place as a large, scaly arm shot up through the sewer access at the end of the street.

"Deathclaw!" he shouted when he realized that the Vault Dweller hadn't made a move to run. Why wasn't she running?! "Run! Get out of the street!"

The beast hauled itself to the surface as the minigun began to spin up. The spray of bullets did nothing to stop its full on charge, and Preston felt his heart lurch in his chest as a massive claw backhanded the Vault Dweller with all its might. She staggered, but stayed on her feet, swinging the minigun back around and firing directly into the monster's belly. Bloodbug stings for all the good it seemed to do.

"Dammit, run! You can't beat that thing!" He began firing blast after blast, hoping to distract the monster enough to give her an escape.

The deathclaw reared up, grabbing the power armor in both hands to lift it from the ground and biting down on the helmet. Weakened from pre-war combat, the raiders, and two centuries of rust, the plating buckled and tore. As the beast turned its head to spit out the broken armor pieces, the Vault Dweller jabbed a fist into its eye. Roaring again, this time in pain, it dropped her and stumbled back onto all fours.

Preston couldn't believe what he was seeing. Armor in shambles but exosuit still functioning, the Vault Dweller was _wrestling_ the deathclaw. What the actual hell?!

Having found its weakness, she had managed somehow to get an arm locked around the thing's neck and was repeatedly jabbing at it's eye. Savagery matched for savagery, they clawed and flailed at each other until the beast suddenly let out a long wail and collapsed.

For a long moment, nothing moved.

Preston was very much afraid that they had killed each other.

Then, "Dammit all to hell! The suit's out of power again! A little help please?"

A slightly hysterical laugh burst out of him as he dashed back inside. He motioned to Sturges to follow him, and both men rushed down to the street.

Preston had managed to hold back the fit of giggles that wanted to escape, but Sturges wasn't at all concerned with propriety, laughing as they hauled the deathclaw off their pinned savior. She didn't seem to mind, though, letting them roll her over so she could open the rear hatch and scramble out of the useless frame.

"I don't believe it! I just don't believe it!" Sturges continued to laugh, offering her a hand and helping her to stand. "You fought a deathclaw by yourself and won!"

"Deathclaw? Is that what its called? What the hell is it?"

Both men quickly reached out to steady her as she suddenly pitched forward, whatever energy or adrenaline she had draining from her and leaving her shaking. Preston noted the black eye from before had fully swollen shut now and she had a freely bleeding cut at her temple and under her chin.

"We'll explain later. Let's get you back inside and patched up first," he said, swinging her arm over his shoulder, Sturges taking up her other side, and helping her back into the museum.

Preston took up post at the door --with the way the day was going, he couldn't let his guard down yet-- while Sturges set the Vault Dweller down on a bench to treat her injuries.

"I can fix most things, but people are harder to put back together," the mechanic said as he cleaned her cuts. He was sliding the needle of a stimpack into the base of her neck as the Longs and Mama Murphy finally joined them downstairs.

All of his charges accounted for, Preston let his mind wander a little as he watched the stimpack's medicine take effect. The swelling in her eye gradually went down, letting her open it again. He'd never seen eyes so blue, the whites so clear they stood out like jewels. His own adrenaline rush finally leaving him, he allowed himself a brief moment of foolish thought: he could fall in love with eyes like that.

He didn't pay much attention to the exchange between the Vault Dweller and Mama Murphy until the old mystic mentioned bringing her chems for the Sight. Thankfully the younger woman seemed just as against the idea as he, desperate though she was for more information about Diamond City and the 'bright heart' Mama Murphy mentioned.

Patched up as best as Sturges could do, the Vault Dweller stood with a relieved sigh, heading for the door.

Before she could pull it open, Preston stopped her. "Just a moment, please?" She raised an eyebrow at him in askance. Those eyes... "Listen, you saved our lives today. I know its not much of a repayment, but here." He handed her his stash of caps and as many fusion cells he could spare.

She frowned, pushing the items back into his hands. "I didn't do it for money." She sounded flat out offended.

He blinked, surprised and a little sheepish. "I'm sorry. It's not often we meet people in the Commonwealth that aren't just out for themselves."

She waved him off. "It's fine. So what are you going to do now?"

"Mama Murphy knows about a place called Sanctuary not far from here that she says will be safe," he began.

"She 'knows'?!" Marcy Long suddenly snapped. "More of her 'visions' while she'd stoned out of her gourd!"

It seemed with the crisis over, everyone was getting back to themselves. Which meant the arguments between Preston, who had complete faith in Mama Murphy, and Marcy, who had none at all, had come right back to where they'd left off before the raider ambush. Preston noticed that the Vault Dweller remained silent as the debate got more heated and Sturges stepped in as mediator for the umpteenth time.

The decision made and Marcy effectively silenced again, Preston turned back to the Vault Dweller. "I know you have other things to do, but if I could impose on your good will a little longer, I ask that you please come with us to Sanctuary. I could still use your help."

She hesitated, looking torn. He felt a pang of shame for the pleading look he knew he was giving her, but he was just as desperate for her to stay as she was to go. Finally, she nodded.

"All right, Garvey. Let's go."

It wasn't until much later when the group had crossed the bridge into Sanctuary that Preston realized he still hadn't even asked the Vault Dweller her name.

"Honoria," she said, then corrected, "or just 'Nora,' rather."

"Nora." He liked it. He smiled, and quickly had to look away as heat rushed to his cheeks when she smiled back. He changed the subject. "This place is nice. Looks like we can settle down here and make a good run of it."

"Yeah, I liked living here." Her smile faded as she surveyed the collapsed houses and rusted out cars. "It was beautiful once. Before the bombs fell."

He was confused. "Bombs? Are you saying... What _are_ you saying?"

"The Vault." She pointed up towards the overlooking hill. "We were put in some kind of... cryostasis, I guess. My family... some of our neighbors..."

"So you're pre-war?"

It explained a lot, actually. Generational Vault Dwellers didn't look like she did. She looked... well, healthy. Her skin didn't have the sunless pallor common among them. Her pupils weren't the permanent pinpricks of one having spent all of their life underground. And she had curves. Lovely rounded hips and full--

Preston mentally slammed the breaks on that line of thinking. "Are there many of you? I mean, it's technically still your neighborhood, but I'm sure we could..."

He trailed off as she shook her head slowly. "They're all dead," she said softly, and he could see tears forming. "There were people in cleanroom suits... They killed my husband and took my son... and I think they caused the stasis pods to malfunction. I don't know."

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder as she covered her face with both hands. "Damn. I'm so sorry..."

She let out a sob, then sniffed and wiped at her eyes. "No, I'm sorry. I know it doesn't do me any good to cry. I just... needed a moment." Shaking herself, she stood up straight and cleared her throat. "Mama Murphy said my son is still alive somewhere in the Commonwealth. I _will_ find him. Somehow."

He thought back on the deathclaw. Heaven help the poor bastards when she got her hands on them.

"I believe you will," he said, giving her shoulder a light squeeze before letting it go. "I want to help you." He felt like a cad for what he was going to say next. "First things first, though. We need to set up base here." She was looking longingly back toward the other side of the bridge. He was losing her. "I know it's more than I have a right to ask, but I can't just leave them alone and defenseless. Please?"

She was quiet for a long moment. "You've got me over a barrel here."

"I know, and I'm sorry," he sighed. "I won't lie about it. I'm desperate."

She turned back to him, arching an eyebrow. "Way to boost a girl's ego there, Garvey." He'd be worried he'd offended her again except for the small smirk curling her lips. He still had the decency to hunch his shoulders in contrition. "Fine. More hands make lighter work. What do you need me to do?"

Preston knew from way too much experience that different people coped with grief in different ways. Nora was one of those rare few that found solace in hard work. She was relentless. By sundown, she and Sturges had cobbled together a working water purifier and enough beds for everyone out of junk hauled from the still standing houses. It was a good start.

After a meager dinner of boiled gourd and hardtack, the group dispersed to their chosen sleep areas for the night. Preston, however, couldn't sleep. Sanctuary was isolated and had the natural defense of being surrounded by the river on all sides, but Concord was a hard lesson learned. The museum had been mostly intact and sturdy. They'd let their guard down. He wouldn't let them be caught by surprise again.

On his third circuit of the perimeter, he was startled by the sounds of splashing down by the southerly side of the river. He crouched low and made his way to the crumbled stone wall, laser musket at the ready.

The splashing continued, then "God _DAMN_ it!", followed by groan of metal and a _ba-whoosh_ of something large hitting the water.

The lady sure had a mouth on her, he thought to himself as he lowered his weapon and stood.

It would have been comical to see Nora sprawled on her ass in the swallows if the half moon's light didn't throw her look of misery into such sharp relief. It worried him more that he could hear the faint clicking of her Pip-Boy's Geiger counter, yet she made no move to stand back up. She folded her arms over her knees, lowered her head, and wept.

"Nora?" She didn't acknowledge him. He set his musket on the edge of the wall and hopped over it, wading out to her. He hesitated when he got within arm's reach of her, torn between the desire to comfort her and the knowledge that she was still very much a stranger to him. Practicality overrode any of his feelings on the matter, however, as the Geiger counter continued it's warning. "Nora, the water's too dangerous for Vault Dwellers. Come on, before the radiation makes you sick."

He gripped her by the arms and pulled her up. Looping an arm around her waist, he guided her up the river bank, grabbing his musket as they passed, and back toward the settlement proper. Earlier in the day, everyone had chosen one of the still standing house for themselves. Preston had taken the one closest to the bridge with the mindset of making it a guardhouse. At the moment, it was the nearest shelter.

Nora was shivering by the time he lead her inside. Though the vault suit had mostly dried on the short walk (good ol' Vault-Tec technology), her hair was still soaked and dripping. He stifled his awkwardness at sitting her on his bed --the only dependable piece of furniture in the house-- and went to retrieve the towel he'd remembered seeing hanging in the bathroom across the hall. It wasn't all that clean, but a few hard shakes knocked most of the centuries-old dust out.

He paused as he entered the bedroom. She had folded herself in half, her arms around her stomach and her head to her knees. He gently wrapped the towel around her, kneeling to rub it through her hair when she made no move to do it herself.

"Are you feeling okay?" Stupid question, Preston, he berated himself. "I mean, are you feeling sick? Did you swallow any of the water?"

She shook her head. He could hear her teeth chattering. He'd gone this far; how much more damage could it do to push in a little closer? He moved up to sit on the edge of the bed next to her, opening his coat and pulling her into his body heat. She hesitated for a moment before sliding her arms around his middle and sighing.

Long minutes ticked by as her shivers subsided.

Satisfied she wasn't rad-poisoned or on her way to catching pneumonia, his curiosity was back. "So what's with the late night swim? Couldn't sleep?"

He felt a flutter in his stomach as she shook her head again, the motion pushing her a little more into him and muffling her voice. "After two hundred plus years of it, I'm afraid to now. Thought I'd make myself useful; continue the clean up."

She had been trying to pull debris out of the stream around the water purifier, he realized.

She pulled back to sit up straight again, the towel falling away. He immediately found himself missing her weight against him. "What am I doing?" she whispered as if to herself. "I'm wasting time. I need to get to this Diamond City... wherever it is."

He grabbed her hand when she stood to leave. Even in the poor glow of moonlight from the window, her eyes glittered with annoyance as she snapped her head back around to him. He'd kept her long enough, he knew. He also knew, despite her toughness, she had no idea what to expect in the wasteland.

"Stay until morning." She let out a frustrated groan. "I said I would help you, and I will, but it'll be safer in daylight," he reasoned. "Please stay?"

He wasn't entirely sure he wasn't also asking her to stay with _him_. No, he chided himself, that was exactly what he was asking. One brief moment of her closeness and he was begging like a dog for more. He should feel ashamed. His mother would be scandalized that he didn't feel one bit of it as Nora let him pull her back to his bed, laying back as she slid in beside him, and sighing as he let her burrow into his arms again for warmth.

That night, he dreamed of his family's old farm and his mother in her favorite blue dress for the first time in years.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
